Frasier1993

[Frasier is trying to get Bebe to quit smoking]

Frasier:
For God's sake... I don't care anymore. You know, I can't help you, nobody can. You want to ruin it for both of us? Here... [tosses her a lighter]... go ahead, knock yourself out.

[Bebe begins to light cigarette]

Frasier:
I only wish I could be there when it happens.

Bebe:
When what happens?

Frasier:
When you see that newspaper headline: "Big Willy Boone, Millionaire, Dead." Oh, how I wish I could be there when you watch the funeral on the news. Watch the casket being slipped into the ground. Only, you won't be watching that. No, no, you'll be watching... the widow Boone. Tiffany, perhaps. Oh no, better yet, "Kelli" - with an "I"!

Bebe:
[tortured] Stop it!

Frasier:
You'll picture her wearing YOUR jewels, sailing in YOUR yachts, sleeping with YOUR gigolos - but, oh, you won't be sad, no, no, no! [chuckles] Because you'll have your cigarette.

[Bebe stares at her cigarette with fear]

Frasier:
Yeah! Clutched in your nicotine-stained teeth, smoke whirling about your once-pretty, now creased, leathery, smoke-ravaged...

Bebe:
[anguished] Enough!

[Bebe hands the cigarettes to a triumphant Frasier]

Bebe:
God! You are one hell of a therapist!